A Sometimes Fool (for last Saturday)

She was collected, organized, and mostly perfect. Her socks were always matched and her hair always straight. She never talked with her mouth full and nothing ever surprised her. She had it all together; people marveled at her neatness and how organized her life was.

But sometimes, in the every-once-in-a-while, the occasional momentary lapse of reason that sporadically overtook her she would let everything go--speak before spoken to, disregard her turning signal, dance like nobody is watching, jump off cliffs. And it was during those times that she was happiest. She was a sometimes fool.

kodak moment (for 5.18.13)

There had been so much preparation. So many doctors appointments, shopping trips, family meetings, parties, vomit attacks, bathroom breaks. The bags had been packed with all we would need. Pajamas, toothbrush, soaps, and those little clothes that were so tiny you almost needed a microscope to see them.
(A little far fetch, but, whatever.)

~

"Missus Tate, we're gonna ask you to breath in and hold it while pushing and we'll tell you when to stop, okay?"

"1...2....3...4....(keep going!)...7...8. Well done, Missus Tate!"

"Good job, baby, we're so close."

"Okay, push! 2...3...4...5...6...7...8."

A tug.

A slap. 

A wail.

She was here.

Little Rowan was here. 

My Thanks:

To the Basses: You are ridiculous, crazy people, but it would not have been the same without you. Never in a million years. Who else would I have had to “shush” every three minutes? :)

Tenors: Ya’ll are chill. You handled everything that was thrown at you, and still sounded amazing.

To the Sopranos: You are brilliant, bless your hearts. After all you hard work, you all sounded incredible.

To my Alto Buddies: you are the best. Like, ever. I loved getting to know each of you this year.

Now, this might sound corny but…

Thank you all. For everything.

An Oftentimes Fool

How does the wise man die?

How does the wise man die?

I didn’t follow reason

Didn’t take any advice

Didn’t ponder for a season

Stop to think about it twice

They say to run away from love

And forget about your dreams

Thank your lucky stars above

Life’s not ripping at the seams

They say avoid those risks

Be safe, put on the brakes

If you don’t well then tsk, tsk

Guess you’ll pay for your mistakes

They said passion is naive

Reign it in, keep it cool

But I’ve just got to live

Guess I’m oftentimes a fool

An Oftentimes Fool

As I placed my foot on this road again, there was that momentary hesitation, that fleeting moment of questioning. Then I looked up, looked at you, and ran ahead.

My heart, oh simple foolish heart, don’t you know what road this is? Don’t you know that at the end of the tunnel is not light but hurt? Not joy but that throbbing ache at the bottom of your belly that threatens to break open your chest. Not smiles but tears at night on a lonely pillow.

Maybe this one is different. Maybe this time the answer will be yes.

Please?

An Oftentimes Fool

Well. 

It had all come down to this. How had he lived his life before? Clearly, he realized, he hadn’t lived it to the fullest. 

He smirked. Though there had been some great moments. Indeed. 

He had to admit though, that they usually ended with a poor outcome.  

Even now! At this one moment. 

It had been a wonderful night. He hadn’t realized who that beautiful woman was.

But now he kneeled in front of her father. 

Who also happened to be the king of the land. 

“Who is this man?” 

“He is a fool.” 

Indeed. More often than not. 

An Oftentimes Fool

If there was grass anymore it would be soft here.

If there was a sun anymore it would be golden silk on the horizon.

If there was life anymore there would be fireflies dancing like tiny fallen stars.

So many days wasted banking on the empty promise of tomorrow.

Oftentimes I would let the day die and the moon rise unnoticed as I toiled at something unimportant.

“Not today, brother”, I’d say. Maybe tomorrow, next weekend, another day. 

Well, tomorrow’s come, and where are you?

Dead.

And the follies of the good old days are a knife inside my chest.